


Under Cover

by heartstrings



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 02:35:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7202825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartstrings/pseuds/heartstrings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Just get in the fucking blanket fort, Kaner."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under Cover

He was only supposed to be gone for twenty minutes. Pick up the pizza, run by the store to grab some orange juice and Gatorade, come home. That was it. That was the plan. Except Marcello’s was packed when he got there and they’d accidentally put pineapples instead of pesto on his deep dish, and Patrick isn’t an overly picky eater, but that’s too much for even him. So he’d had to wait for a new pizza on top of the traffic jam he got caught in on the way home.

Suffice it to say that twenty minutes had turned into an hour.

When he gets through the front door there aren’t any small grabby hands or grumpy complaints about how long the whole process took. There weren’t any pressing texts either, now that he thinks about it. In fact the whole house is suspiciously quiet.

He can hear the low volume of what he thinks is the flat screen and follows it into the family room, pizzas under one arm and bag of beverages looped around the other.

Jonah was coloring a green and purple striped tiger, spread out on the floor while Jonny had been watching the U.S. Open when Patrick left to pick up the food. So he hadn’t really figured on coming home to an absolutely gigantic blanket fort instead.

But that’s definitely what this is.

It’s impressive really; he has to admit. Every sheet and towel and comforter in the house is being utilized in some way, several are draped over the couch, some over kitchen chairs and TV trays that are all connected by a bookshelf at one end of the room and the entertainment center at the other. 

There’s noise coming from deep inside, but it’s soft, and when Patrick throws out an amused ‘hello’, a head pops up a minute later from out of nowhere.

“Hey,” Jonny says, smile crooked and cheeks pink.

“Uh, hi,” Patrick smiles back a little helplessly. “Sooooo, you’ve been busy.”

“We got bored waiting for you.”

“I see that. I’m not cleaning this up alone,” he says pointedly.

Jonny rolls his eyes. “Don’t be a party pooper, Peeks. Come enjoy our awesome fort. Bring the food.”

There must not be room for him to reach out his arm so instead he cocks his head in a come hither gesture that’s both irritatingly cute and sexy. Patrick can’t believe how into this doofus he is sometimes.

That’s a lie. He totally can.

Still, he gives Jonny a skeptical look because the last time he and their son got into shenanigans while Patrick was away it involved food coloring, a new haircut, a few ruined shirts and a stained countertop Patrick’s never been able to get all the way clean.

“I’m serious,” he says, biting back a grin. “You’re both helping fold and I mean it.”

Jonny frowns. It’s overly dramatic and stupid and not at all charming. “Kaner?”

“Yeah?”

“Just get in the fucking blanket fort.”

He whispers over the curse word, as usual, like he thinks if he limits the swearing to below regular volume then Jonah won’t magically pick up on them. Fat chance, but Patrick’s going to deal with that battle when the time comes.

Before he can respond Jonny’s head disappears again, slipping down below the blankets and leaving Patrick alone to find away inside this monstrosity. 

He searches for an opening near the middle where the party is obviously at, but sees no way to get inside without disturbing the carefully constructed walls. It takes him going to the far end of the room near the bookshelf to discover a tunnel of sorts that he has to shimmy through, bags placed in front of him, as he wiggles his way forward. 

Hilariously, he’s sweating a little by the time he makes it to the small burrow where his boys are curled around Jonny’s laptop, more blankets and pillows underneath them creating a pleasant kind of bedding to stretch out on.

Jonny takes the bags so Patrick can get comfortable next to him, setting them off to the side. Jonah’s asleep on Jonny’s other side, head resting on one of Jonny’s thighs and sock monkey tucked under his tiny arm.

Patrick reaches out to brush a few auburn curls off his forehead and catches Jonny’s jaw in a quick kiss as he leans back. That’s when he realizes what’s playing on the laptop.

“ _Veggie Tales_ , really?” he groans.

It’s not just that Patrick thinks they’re kind of inane as far as cartoons go, and loud, but also Jonah’s watched them all approximately three hundred times. It’s no Cars, but still, his kid has a weird fascination with talking inanimate objects.

“He likes it,” Jonny shrugs, looping an arm around Patrick’s waist to pull him closer. “Your mom sent this one, it’s new.”

“Shit creeps me out,” Patrick says, faking a shudder.

“I know you’re sexually attracted to that cucumber, don’t lie.”

“I’m sexually attracted to your cucumber.”

“Gross,” Jonny grimaces, but he laughs and kisses hotly over Patrick’s pulse point until his breath catches, just a little.

He brushes a hand over Jonny’s abs and down, teasing. “Well, if you say so, but I like it.”

The tips of Jonny’s ears and his neck flush a gorgeous red and Jonny ducks his head, bumping their shoulders together.

“Oh my god, stop yourself.” 

Patrick’s pants go a little tight at Jonny’s bashfulness. They could be eighty years old and Jonny still wouldn’t be able to take a straight on compliment. Doesn’t mean Patrick won’t stop giving them or stop loving the way it both turns them on to praise and be praised by each other.

Not much they can do about it now, though, with their kid conked out right next to them. So Patrick stores that away for later and hits pause on the atrocity playing before him.

“I brought other things to watch,” Jonny says, as Patrick’s searching through iTunes. “Because I know how to plan ahead.”

He gives Patrick The Look.

“It was one picnic!” he groans. “Will you let it go already?”

“Who doesn’t bring condiments?!”

“Well maybe if you liked normal things like mustard and relish instead of that Fat Free Raspberry Vinaigrette bullshit I would have. Case in point there’s your stupid gluten-free, thin and crispy, no cheese, pointless pizza. Enjoy? Or maybe don’t.”

Jonny ignores his diatribe to grab the pizza bag and pull out the boxes. “With the green peppers?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks, baby.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Patrick sighs, taking his deep dish. “Are we really gonna eat in here?”

“You uncomfortable?” Jonny asks, all earnest and willing to accommodate.

Patrick can’t help but take his hand and pull it into his lap, run his thumb over the delicate veins on the inside of his wrist.

“No, actually. You guys did a good job; comfy and structurally sound. Gold star.”

Jonny beams. “Little man was psyched to show you. Got worn out towards the end of construction though. He’ll be glad to have your approval. So what’s the deal then?”

“What’s what deal?” he asks, attention pulled away from the distracting length of Jonny’s tan forearm.

“Why do you want to bail on our incredibly awesome blanket fort?” he says, eyes knowing and mouth curved at the corner.

Patrick licks over his lips in retaliation, a distraction. “Oh. Well. I’m not about watching fuckin’ veggie tales, man. Not unless I have to.”

Jonny kisses him. Patrick’s not prepared, but he sinks into it easily, opening his mouth to Jonny’s gentle prodding and letting him in. Their lips and tongue slide together in that familiar toe tingling, stomach flipping way that always, always has Patrick coming back for more. 

“Good thing,” Jonny says, when they part, his voice scratchy and deep. “I also brought these before we came in.”

He reaches over Jonah to a wicker basket filled with who knows what and pulls out a DVD collector’s edition of the three _Star Wars_ prequels.

There are no words. Patrick can’t help but gawk at him for a moment, amazed.

“I love you so much.”

Jonny scratches at the back of his still flushed neck. “I know.”

“So glad I locked this down,” he says, smile bright as he kisses Jonny again, mouthing at his chin before pulling away to slip The Phantom Menace disc into the laptop.

“Wait a minute,” Jonny breaks in, shaking his head. “I asked first.”

Patrick takes his time getting the movie started, getting situated in his seat, and flipping his pizza box open to grab the first messy slice. He enjoys the way it works Jonny up the longer he has to wait for Patrick’s response.

“Technically, I asked first.”

By the way Jonny’s forehead wrinkles this is clearly not the response he was looking for. 

“Proposing in a Waffle House at ten o'clock at night when we were rookies doesn’t count. We weren’t even together yet.”

“It counts enough that you remember it,” Patrick says, smiling around a huge bite of greasy, delicious, gluten filled pizza.

Jonny thumbs over a drop of pesto on his bottom lip and pops it into his own. “I always remember when it’s you.”

Patrick doesn’t know whether to leer or glower. He’s trying to enjoy his dinner here, not catch a boner. Although Jonny seems to be determined to make that happen with his…everything.

“When it’s me, eh? But not when it’s all those other losers proposing, right?”

“Shut up, Kaner,” Jonny laughs.

It’s a great sound really, one of Patrick’s favorites. He enjoys the way it makes Jonny’s eyes crinkle, the way his whole face lights up. He feels it like a tangible thing deep inside his chest, the way their bodies line up perfectly in bed, the way their hands fit tangled and intertwined, the way they circle each other on ice, never too far apart.

Everything he’s ever wanted.

“Anyway,” he says, clearing his throat. “It was always headed that way. We both knew it even then.”

“Still doesn’t count,” Jonny shakes his head, cocky and smug. “I had a ring when I asked. I win.”

To prove his point he captures Patrick’s hand this time, draws it close and loops his forefinger around Patrick’s platinum wedding band, holds on.

Patrick leans into Jonny’s shoulder, content. “You got me out of it, so yeah, you did.”

“Yeah,” Jonny echoes, smiling. “I did.”


End file.
